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cobbvanthsblaster · 2 years

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World on Fire

Pairing: Logan Howlett x GN!Reader

Summary: While you and Logan are sitting outside the mansion, a memory arises that leaves him needing some comfort. Set after Days of Future Past.

A/N: i’m not the best at summaries, i’m sorry gbdbjg but! i hope y’all enjoy~. also this is my first time writing for Logan so if it’s a bit ooc or something, that’s why :’) i also posted this on ao3!

Warnings: mentions of drowning, angst, hurt/comfort -- if i missed any tags, lmk!

Word Count: 1.3k

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Doesn’t the world look like it’s on fire?” You mused, eyes glued on the slow moving clouds in the sky. They were saturated in orange and pink, covering most of the horizon as the sun lowered.

Logan tightened his arms around you ever so slightly -- a mannerism he’d picked up ever since returning to the mansion -- and he huffed out a chuckle. “It does.”

He then got silent, chin resting on your shoulder as he drew in a deep breath. The wind blew lightly against the two of you, and you knew he was catching its scent. You didn’t even have to turn to picture the look on his face -- eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration, soft smile on his lips. Something like peace. Perhaps the closest to peace Logan’s been to in a while.

“I’ve seen a world on fire,” Logan murmurs after the breeze is gone. By now, the sun is low enough that dusk is taking hold of the sky. The first few specks of stars are littering the deep blue like freckles, a chill settling in with the oncoming night.

Your hand moves to where his rests across your midsection, fingers dancing over his knuckles. His arms tighten again, and you press further back into him.

“What did it look like?” You press, voice soft and understanding because you know what’s coming. It wasn’t uncommon for Logan to get like this out of nowhere -- lost in his own head, reaching for distant memories.

His memories are a jumble, overlapping each other and full of holes. You’ve sat up with him on countless nights after he’d awoken from a nightmare and tried to help him piece together the fragments of his mind. It was hard to talk him down with all the things he’s seen; it was almost like he was reliving his tragedies all over again each time he remembered something new. Sometimes keywords sparked something, and you were there and patient with him every time that happened.

“Red,” he says in a half-hearted joking tone. You roll your eyes and lightly jab him in the side with your elbow. He chuckles softly, the sound resonating from his chest before it subsides and he becomes serious again. “It was… lonely, really. The world went to shit and there wasn’t anything anyone could do to stop it. Not at first, anyways.”

You take in a breath, heart aching at the defeated and resigned tone in his voice. How he keeps all these memories, whole ones and fractured alike, in his head without breaking is something you’ll never understand. He was perhaps the strongest person you’ve ever known.

His thumb draws circles against your stomach, a soothing pattern that you mirror onto the back of his hand with your fingers. “Was this in the other timeline? With the sentinels?”

You can feel him nod his head, a subtle movement that was almost undetectable. He’d told you a bit about that timeline; or, the few things he’d remembered from it. How the future looked, and his time in the past trying to prevent that future from coming to fruition. But, just like with his other memories, there had been holes. Now, it seemed, he was piecing some things together.

“I think…” he begins after a couple minutes. You slip your hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze while you wait for him to get his thought out. He squeezes your hand back instinctively. “I remember drowning.”

You notice the expansion of his chest against your back as he draws in a deep breath, jaw clenching and unclenching as he tries to take control over the memory. “That’s where it goes blank, I can’t… I remember the feeling of my lungs filling with water -- bursting at the pressure -- and then nothing else.” He turns his head, pressing into the crook of your neck. Your free hand reaches back to card through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m drowning,” he murmurs.

“Do you feel like that right now?” You keep your voice level, but worry still gnaws at you from the inside. It always pained you how haunted Logan was. He could never seem to catch a break, both from his mind and from reality, and it just didn’t seem fair that someone like him could be plagued with just tragedy. Fate was a bastard.

“Mhm,” he hums, chest expanding again. You turn in his arms, dropping his hand as you shift from sitting criss-cross to propping yourself on your knees in front of him. You take his head in your hands and situate him so that his forehead is pressed against your chest right over your heart. His arms circle around you again, grip tight enough to hurt a little but you don’t mind, really. You trusted him, just as he trusted you to be his lifeline right now.

You card fingers through his hair, pressing kisses to the crown of his head every now and then. “You’re okay, Logan,” you murmur, “you’re safe. You’re not drowning anymore.”

His fists clench against your back. “Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly. “I know.. I know.” He takes in another deep breath, then releases it a moment later.

“You’re okay,” you repeat softly. He sits in silence as you continue to reassure him, his body slowly untensing as he focuses on you and your words. It isn’t until the night is fully set in that he risks leaning back, head tilting to look at you.

The phosphorescent moon illuminates his features and you can tell that there’s a hint of shame in his eyes. Despite his trust in you, he still always seems to carry this sense of guilt in the aftermath of moments like tonight. You’ve learned by now how to quell his worries before he feels the need to apologize for anything, so that’s what you do. He has nothing to apologize for, afterall.

You cup his face and smile at him softly before pressing a kiss to his forehead, and then a lingering one on his lips. When you pull apart he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. “Thank you,” he whispers, and you can tell there’s more he wants to say. His mouth opens, and you tilt back to look at him but he seems to rethink what his next words were going to be because all he says is, “for staying.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” you respond, your words spoken like a promise. The corners of his mouth quirk up, that hint of shame gone from his eyes. After a moment he clears his throat, glancing up at the sky as a welcome distraction from the dark thoughts that were plaguing him just moments ago.

“Pretty sky tonight,” he remarks, looking back at you with a nearly charismatic smile. “Mind if we stay out here for a little while longer?”

“What, you mean you don’t wanna rush back to the mansion and prepare for tomorrow’s lessons?” You tease. “How irresponsible of you, professor.”

“Ah, shut up,” he says, voice light as he leans back onto the grass. He crosses his arms behind his head and settles against the ground while you stay kneeling between his legs, staring down at him. When he sees you haven’t moved he quirks an eyebrow at you, nudging you gently with the side of his knee. “You waitin’ for an invitation? C’mere.” He flashes you another smile, arm moving from under his head so you can cuddle up next to him.

You move in an instant, head resting on his chest and hand splayed against his midsection. A silence settles between you and Logan, but it’s comfortable and welcomed. Just the two of you on the grounds of the mansion, watching as the galaxy drinks up the night sky, a world no longer on fire.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x y/n #reader insert #x-men: days of future past #x-men #x-men x reader #hurt/comfort

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veilder · 2 years

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Tuesday is here and that means! Another prompt from yours truly! ^_^ We're rocking the Gavin Redemption Arc here tonight, everyone. Buckle up. XD

Prompt: Time traveler!Gavin AU where he comes from the nuclear ending and has been sent back into the past to try and prevent it from happening. Gavin's been fighting against the machines as long as he can remember and he hates them with every fiber of his being. It’s basically anathema to him, being forced to work with them in 2038. But he has a mission and a cover to keep. He knows full-well what a deviant is capable of and has vowed to stop them.

Too bad his best chance at that fails when the infamous deviant hunter knocks him unconscious in the archive.

Because he knows what an important figure Connor was to the Revolution. He was the key in turning the tide of things. So he knows Connor is just a ticking time-bomb when it comes to deviating. The archive is the last straw and, in a desperate attempt, he tries to stop a killer machine who far outclasses him. He remembers the terror of the future and so does the only thing he can think of to prevent it. And he fails.

So cue his surprise when the sun rises on November 11th and the humans are still around. Detroit is still a hotbed of tension, yeah, but nothing like the history books described. The news is spewing out stories about a ceasefire and peace talks and dismantling the recycling centers and he feels like the world has turned upside down on him. This is nothing at all like the history he knows.

And then, as the fuckin cherry on top, who but Connor shows up at his hospital room, looking far too remorseful for a ruthless deviant like he’s seen in the future? And then he apologizes for attacking him!

Gavin is completely lost here. He has no frame of reference for this at all. So he says nothing.

Connor seems satisfied nonetheless, and departs with a nod and a small smile for the bedridden man. And Gavin is left pondering the exchange well into the night.

But Connor comes back, again and again, keeping him company and sneaking him unhealthy snacks and acting so worryingly human. Eventually, Gavin has no choice but to converse. And he finds that he... doesn’t hate it. But when they eventually reach enough of an accord that Connor starts going personal, that’s when Gavin really starts worrying. Because Connor speaks so often of guilt, of remorse, of fear. He talks about his people and how he’d worked against innocents who only wanted freedom. He speaks of their struggle and how he feels he deserves no part in their victory.

And Gavin, fallible human that he is, begins to feel... kinship. Understanding. Empathy! With a machine! He wonders at how Connor’s words can so mirror Gavin’s comrades in the future, how he can hear echoes of his leaders in this synthetic person.

And most dangerously of all, he starts to wonder if he gave up his home and his life and his freedom... to stop beings he finds he no longer can hate.

And if Gavin’s not the only one who was sent back, too? And now he’s found himself on the opposite side of the fight, trying to protect people he’s only ever thought of as monsters from his own friends... Well, let's just say things are about to get pretty rocky for him. Or! The sorta-Terminator-esque kickass sci-fi backstory for Gavin that casts him as a human resistance fighter turned undercover time traveler turned android ally fighting against his own future, complete with action and thrills and a very unexpected romance. Come for the convoluted plot, stay for the character development, lol! ^_^

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ecoamerica · 23 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

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fireopal-tash · 2 years

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This scene was powerful in a very emotional way ;w;

Love lion xP

Click the image for better quality UwU

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hannaswritingblog · 3 years

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‘Make It Better’ | Back to the Future ficlet

Requested by anon [x/x]

Tags/themes: hurt/comfort, found family

Word count: 1.7k

Also available on AO3 [here]

Summary: You’re worried about your friend Marty when one day he doesn’t show up where he never fails to appear. Despite his claims that he’s doing fine, it becomes your goal to make him feel better, no matter how much of your time it takes.

A/N: Finally, it’s here! I know it took me a long time to finish this, but I hope to be forgiven. Keep in mind it’s my first ficlet in a long time (and first for this fandom), so my writing might be a bit rusty. All the comments and remarks are welcome, but as usual, please be polite. ;)

It’s a cool winter morning of a day towards the end of January. You're headed to Doc Brown's workshop, expecting to meet your friend Marty as well. Since the start of your friendship a couple of months prior, it has become your routine to clash there and spend some time with Doc, chatting about his inventions and your plans for the future, before heading to school together.

Even though you both have the habit of sleeping in and showing up late at school, you hardly ever fail to meet Doc before classes; on top of that, Marty has usually been the one to appear at the workshop first. This is why when you enter the workshop, you expect him to already be inside.

But that’s not what happens on this day. Much to your surprise, Doc appears to be the only person in there, besides his dog Einstein. Once he notices you, he seems surprised too.

‘Hello, Mar… Oh, it's you, Y/N,’ he says. ‘I thought it was going to be Marty.’

‘Good morning. Yeah, I thought he was going to be here before me too,’ you respond, sitting beside the table.

‘Well, punctuality isn’t his forte, right?’

’Right, but all in all he’s more punctual than me,’ you say, glancing at your wristwatch. ‘Do you think something happened?’

‘I don't know, I hope not,’ he sighs. ‘But aren't you going to be late for school?’

‘Maybe, but I think I should wait for him here.’

‘I'm going to tell him you went there if he shows up. He will understand that you didn't wait.’

‘No, I really think…’

Suddenly you heard a clock striking. Knowing you're already late anyway, you look at Doc and shrug your shoulders.

‘I think you still should get going. If Marty doesn't show up too soon, I want to be sure at least one of you doesn’t get in trouble at school.’

You’re surprised by his words. There's always something to help him with and it happened a couple of times before that he encouraged you to actually stay and work on his new project with him, even if just jokingly. Walking to school is also much better with a friend by your side. You don't want to argue though, so you take your bag and leave.

With every second of every class it’s getting harder for you to focus on what the teachers have to say. You just keep peeking at your watch. First you’re thinking Marty is going to run into the classroom any minute, apologising for being late again. Then you decide to pay him a visit after school. With this thought in your head you count the time left until the end of classes for the rest of the day. You want to believe Doc’s hope that nothing bad happened, but you can’t shake off a feeling that something has to be wrong.

Eager to find out the truth as soon as possible, you sprint out of class and then school the very second your last class ends. With no hesitation, you head to Marty’s house. Once you’re there, you barely let yourself catch a breath; you head to the door and knock almost immediately. A couple of minutes pass before it finally opens and you stand face to face with Marty’s mom.

‘Good day, Mrs. McFly,’ you greet her as politely and kindly as you can, in spite of her rather apathetic outlook. ‘Is Marty home? Could I see him?’

‘Sure, come in. He’s in his bedroom.’

You smile at her and make your way to Marty’s room. Upon entering you see him lying on his bed, only his head sticking out from under his quilt, most likely asleep. As he wakes up and looks at you after the door creaks, he immediately sits up, visibly startled.

‘Hi, Marty,’ you greet him. ‘Don’t be scared, it’s just me.’

‘Um… Hi, Y/N. What are you doing here?’

'I came to check on you. Why weren't you at school today, or at Doc’s workshop? I was wondering if something bad happened.’'

'No, nothing bad. It’s just… I don't feel well, so I decided I shouldn't go.'

'You don't look well, either,’ you note, taking a better look at him. ‘Are you sure it’s not anything bad?’

‘It’s really… okay, Y/N,’ he assures you. ‘I’ll go to the doctor tomorrow morning if it doesn’t get better, but I’m pretty sure it’s just a cold.’

Something about his demeanor makes you think that Marty isn’t telling you the whole truth, as if he’s hiding things from you; you’re almost certain he’s actually feeling much worse than he’s trying to make it look like now. But since you know it probably won’t help him to call him out and make him feel like you don’t trust him, you only say:

‘If you say so... Can I help you somehow?’

‘No, no. Please don’t bother,’ he answers.

‘It’s not a bother if you’re helping a friend,’ you tell him. ‘Can I at least visit you tomorrow? I could come around the same time, after school.’

‘Yeah. That would be nice. And… tell Doc he could visit too if he wants? He called me in the morning, I told him I was sick but I put him off when he wanted to check on me.’

Hearing this baffles you; they talked earlier and Doc didn’t tell you anything, despite probably knowing by the time you met?

‘Consider it done,’ you answer, trying to appear unbothered.

You smile at him before making the last promise to come by tomorrow after school and leaving. You wish you could stay longer, but an idea just crossed your mind to make Marty feel better, and you need time to make it real.

* * *

Your next day mostly goes as usual. After having stayed up late over schoolwork and a special thing you wanted to prepare for Marty, you sleep in a little. It still doesn’t stop you from paying Doc a quick visit.

‘Did you know?’ you ask him from the doorstep.

‘Did I know what?’ he responds, a bit confused.

‘That Marty was sick. I visited him yesterday, he told me you talked on the phone.’

He lets out a sight and admits:

‘Yeah, I did. That’s why I told you to go to school yesterday, I knew there was no point keeping you here.’ After a moment of silence, Doc adds: ‘Are you mad I didn’t tell you? I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Maybe a little, but I’ll live. Do you want to visit Marty with me? I promised him I’d come after school today, he said you could come too.’

‘I’m not sure if I’ll make it. I’ll try, but in case I don’t, can you give him this?’

As he speaks, he gives you a bag. Once you grab it, you can’t help but peek into it, only to see a book and some medication.

‘Of course, I will,’ you say without questioning.

Knowing that Marty is relatively well and you’re going to see him later, you are able to focus better on your classes and even take some notes, with the intention to use them later; Marty needs to catch up with the school work when he gets better after all.

Soon you find yourself at his door again. Not surprised to see you, your friend’s mom lets you in.

It occurs to you from the moment you step into Marty’s room that he feels much worse than the day before. You can see he isn’t even trying to make an impression of feeling well.

‘Hi, Y/N,’ he says weakly as he notices you.

‘Hey, Marty. Looking good.’

‘Don’t even joke about it, please. I haven’t felt so bad in years and I know it shows.’

‘Do you know what your sickness is?’ you ask, sitting beside his bed. ‘You were supposed to go to the doctor, weren’t you?’

‘Yeah, it’s the flu. A bad case, but still just the flu.’

‘I get that. Here, I have something for you.’

You hand Marty the bag. He lifts himself up to immediately check it out. He smiles at the book and puts it on the nightstand, along with the medicine.

‘My parents kept forgetting about the medicine and we ran out of everything that helps with flu. They are like that sometimes, so I asked Doc for it, as a last resort,’ he explains. ‘You and him… you do more for me sometimes than they do,’ he says, suddenly looking a bit sadder.

How do you react to things like that? Not sure what to say, you only smile faintly. With his words meeting silence, Marty doesn’t continue on the topic either. Once he’s done with everything you gave him on Doc’s behalf, you hand him a cassette.

‘What is that?’ he asks.

‘A mixtape. I made it for you yesterday, to lift your spirits. You can listen to it later, maybe when you read or just fight the fever… I hope it will help to make it better.’

Without a word, Marty takes the cassette from you and puts it in his walkman. He starts listening; you patiently wait in silence. A couple of minutes into the mixtape he stops the music with a smile.

‘I think it’s already helping, Y/N,’ he says. ‘It’s… really nice of you that you have thought about it.’

‘Of course.’

You chat for a while and share some laughs, until Marty gets tired from the conversation. You understand it when he asks you to leave; it gets tiresome to fight a sickness alone, focusing on interactions additionally drains you from what’s left of your energy. It’s probably for the better that Doc didn’t make it, having two people to talk to might be nice, but it doesn’t always go along with curing the flu.

You head to your home with a smile. Knowing that you have a friend who’s always happy to see you, that your presence helps them at their bad times, just like theirs would help you, is truly comforting. You could work on keeping secrets though – it still hurts a little to know you were the last one to find out about Marty’s condition, and finding out much later than you could – but you don’t plan to leave your friendships soon. You have plenty of time to make it better.

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lady-rhaesnow · 2 years

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"All I want"

Jay's undercover for the first time since becoming a parent and none of the Halstead's are handling it well.

[Future fic to 9x08: "Can you come home to me now, please?" "That's all I want." ]

Read it on AO3 and FFN

A very special thank you to @girlinlotsoffandoms for all the support and loving Ella Halstead as much as I do!!

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starfinss · 3 years

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Safe — Kamado Tanjirou

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Summary: After getting separated from your friends on a mission, Tanjirou comes to your rescue.

Pairing: Kamado Tanjirou x Reader

Rating: Fluff, hurt/comfort (SFW)

Word Count: 2,373

______________________________

It was cold, the chill permeating through your haori and uniform, and you shivered as you walked alone, katana drawn, puddles formed by rainwater from the earlier shower splashing under your zori. You could feel your tabi getting unpleasantly wet, and you wished for a moment you’d worn boots, or something more to protect your feet.

This was a mess.

You and your companions had been assigned the task of finding and eradicating the demons that inhabited an abandoned town in the middle of a forest. The forest was on the edge of another small town, one which was rapidly growing, so people tended to get lost there. This had never been more than an inconvenience at first; people would vanish, the town would send out a search party, and the missing person would be found usually to too far from the path they strayed from.

Until it got more complicated, and people stayed gone, no matter how many people went looking for them. The locals knew of the abandoned village, it used to be quite nice. But the people living there suddenly left, and the village was left alone for years. A few people went to investigate it, only one came back. A man, who told the townspeople of the horrors that lurked behind the village gates.

Enter Tanjirou and company.

You and the others arrived together, had some onigiri, and separated into pairs to fan out across the village. It really was creepy, you decided, the buildings, obviously once quite beautiful, were crumbling, the paths unkept, the wood beams holding up the houses splintering. One part of a house had completely collapsed, leaving a pile of roof tiling and torn screens. Fog seemed to hug the village, spread over it like a blanket.

And you could hear whispering. From the look Zenitsu gave you, you could tell he heard it too.

You went with Tanjirou and Nezuko while Zenitsu and Inouske paired (unwittingly) together.

The fog was dense, swallowing its surroundings in a wispy shroud. You kept your guard up as you passed the doorways to houses and small business, the cobblestones slick under your feet. It was weird that they were wet. The rain had fallen yesterday, while you and the others were staying in the village, and it was mostly dry as you made your way through the forest. Maybe things worked differently here, you reasoned. Demons inhabited this village. They never seemed to play by the rules of normalcy.

It was when you turned around to ask Tanjirou to give you some more background on the village when you found him and his sister gone, thick fog and the groaning of wood against the breeze that blustered about left in their place.

You called out, which you realized was probably a stupid thing to do, and as panic began to sink into your chest, you shoved it to the back of your mind.

Remember your training.

You were a demon slayer. You needed to keep calm. You took a slow breath, gathering yourself, drawing your nichirin form it’s sheathe to defend yourself at a moment’s notice.

Where did they go?

You didn’t like this. Demons had a way of playing with your mind. You knew they’d be looking for you. And they couldn’t have gone far. At least, you hoped so.

You began to walk, eyes darting to empty doorways and alleys between shops and houses, anywhere a demon could be hiding. But despite your scanning, you saw nothing. It was dark, the moon above you the only thing providing light, casting rakish shadows across the ground. You had to be prepared for anything.

An open doorway caught your attention, something inside the small tea shop it led to. There was a lantern lit inside, sitting on a low tea table. The table itself was decrepit and faded, but the lantern was glowing bright. You took a step forward.

This village is so strange.

Without stepping fully inside, you snatched the lantern with an outstretched hand, smiling to yourself as you cast light on your surroundings. It couldn’t be that easy.

You set the lantern on the ground by your feet, barely able to react in time as a waifish boy with stringy black hair lunged towards you with a low snarl. The lantern must have been his trap, the promise of light to whatever poor soul wandered into the village. You deflected his scrabbling hands with your blade, slicing his arms off cleanly.

He looked up at you through his hair with pitch black eyes as he scrambled back, spitting in rage and pain. In his momentary recovery, you struck, slicing his head off with a single stroke. He fell to the ground and crumbled to dust.

You picked up the lantern, thankful it didn’t end up meeting its owner’s fate, and went on your way.

Sorry lantern boy, I think I need this more than you.

You continued walking, lantern in hand, much more alert now that you had regained your vision. You now noticed that there were dead leaves littering the ground, among other things. You spotted a long, thin and pale object that you hoped was just a stick.

You knew you were probably wrong. People had died in this village, after all. You used the hook attached to the ring at the top of the lantern to fasten it to your belt, sure that you’d need a free hand eventually.

“(Y/N)!”

You started at the sound of your name being called, seemingly from very far away. You strained to see if you’d hear it again, and there it was, after a moment of silence.

You realized with a start it was Tanjirou’s voice. You took a few steps, trying to see if you’d hear it again.

When it came, it sounded off. Distorted. You froze.

“Tanjirou?!”

Your call was quiet, a half-shout, cautious. Your grip on your katana tightened. You didn’t dare call again, breath caught in your throat.

You needed to find the others. But you didn’t think that was Tanjirou.

You pointedly didn’t go in the direction of the voice as you continued walking, cursing to yourself for answering back, even if it wasn’t at a loud volume. Demons would be able to hear that.

Good thing you knew how to kill them.

But your katana was not much comfort as you continued to think about the voice. There had to be a demon in this village that could mimic voices, and imagining people hearing the voice of a loved one, hope flowering, only to run to their deaths, that filled you with dread and sorrow.

You heard the voice again, only this time, it sounded closer. Not a lot, but enough to make you nervous. You held your katana in front of your chest, ready to strike, but as you did a 360, you saw nothing.

Tanjirou, where are you?

You straightened your back as you carried on, determined to find the real Tanjirou.

Gods, you hoped he was safe. He was tough. You were sure he was. He had to be. You didn’t know what you’d do without him.

You didn’t have his uncanny sense of smell, so you couldn’t track him or Nezuko, if they hadn’t been separated, in that manner. Your ability was closest to Zenitsu, but not as strong. You were better at feeling vibrations and tremors. You could feel when someone was approaching.

You could feel quick little footsteps, which you realized was only a mouse crossing the path in front of you. It scurried away at the sight of you, disappearing back into the shadows.

You felt something bigger, something with a weight closer to your own, which made you grip your sword in the ready position, in both hands, pointed out.

You heard your name called again, and it was closer than ever, still in Tanjirou’s borrowed voice that wasn’t quite right. Your eyes went wide as you backed up against a wall.

Then, you saw it. It was a woman, crawling on all fours. Her limbs were bent at severe angles, and her neck was a little too long. She wore a kimono patterned with maple leaves, the silk faded and torn in places. She advanced towards you, head cocked almost quizzically. Her face was deathly pale, eyes cloudy and veined with red, something dark dripping down her cheeks. Her mouth was popping open and shut like a fish.

You readied your blade, ignoring the sudden terror that her appearance brought.

“(Y/N)?”

That was Tanjirou’s voice.

And it was coming from the Onryō.

Your eyes went huge, and in the moment you were caught off guard, the Onryō leaped into the air, knife-like fingers spreading as she poised herself for an attack. You rolled out of the way, watching as she went crashing into the wall you’d been leaning against. The lantern dislodged from your belt as you fell, rolling across the ground to flicker and go out. You cursed colorfully, wrestling yourself to your feet.

You advanced towards the woman as she regained her bearings, but as you swung your sword, she dodged, giggling. The sound of her laugh was a high, shrill noise, like nails on a chalkboard, grating against your mind.

If that was her real voice, you understood why she used others.

Her claws clattered and scraped as she rushed you again, and this time, you managed to land a hit, cleaving the arm she raised to strike you off. She howled in pain.

She wasn’t much of a talker, you noticed.

She shoved you to the ground with the heel of her palm, and you fell hard, sword clattering away, breath forced from your lungs.

Oh no.

She crept over you, lips pulling into a smile full of wickedly sharp teeth. You reached for your sword, shoulder lacing with pain as you extended your arm a little too far, but the hilt of your katana was just out of reach.

You were about to die. And by the sadistic glee in the entity above you’s eyes, you knew it wouldn’t be a quick death. Tears beaded in your eyes as you kicked at the woman’s legs, clawed at her arms, but you were pinned. You had no chance. Your eyes flicked around to see if you cold find any opening, anything to stay alive. You had so much to do, so much to say, so many people to meet.

You hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell Tanjirou how you felt.

But just as the Onryō raised her newly regenerated arm to drive her claws into your chest, she was catapulted off of you, slamming into the ground with a cry of fury. You turned to your side, propping yourself up onto your elbows.

It was Tanjirou, and you turned just as he swung his blade through the demon’s throat. His face was pinched with fury, eyes blazing, and as you realized you were going to survive, your eyes filled with tears. As soon as the demon lay on the ground, body beginning to disintegrate, he was rushing over to you.

His hands fluttered over you nervously, finding your face to tilt it this way and that, expression serious. His eyebrows furrowed as he noticed the scrape on your cheek from when you’d fallen, fingers hovering over it before his hand fell.

Then, you were in his arms, enfolded against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers curling into the fabric of his haori. You were suddenly crying, unsure of why. Maybe it was the fear, maybe it was your worry for him, and how seeing him now quashed any thoughts of his safety being at risk.

Well, in your line of work, technically, your safety was always at risk. But it certainly didn’t feel like it now that Tanjirou was here.

“You’re not hurt?” Tanjirou whispered, nose burying itself in your hair, “I’m so sorry we got separated, I shouldn’t have gone to investigate that building, I was around the corner for one second and you’d gone. Gods, (Y/N), I was so worried you’d been hurt, or... or killed. I don’t know what I would have done.”

You swallowed back a few sobs. “Where’s Nezuko? Is she okay?”

“Fine. She’s fine. She’s just by that shop.”

You looked over Tanjirou’s shoulder to find Nezuko looking up at the moon, giving you what you figured was a smile when she saw you looking at her.

“And you?” You breathed, fingers tracing Tanjirou’s face. He smiled.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

His eyes filled with emotion as he tucked your face into the curve of his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, (Y/N), you’re so important to me.”

“And you—“

You started sobbing again, prompting Tanjirou to smooth back your hair, shushing you quietly.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, “I’m here now. You’re safe.”

It took you a moment or two to regain your bearings, but you eventually did.

“I love you,” you whispered, which just made Tanjirou’s embrace grow stronger.

He pulled back ever so slightly to press a warm kiss to your mouth, catching you by surprise, but you responded anyway, kissing him back sweetly.

He broke the kiss to hold you again. “I love you too. I love you too. Thought you didn’t feel the same.”

You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. “Of course I do, I—“

Your sentence was broken by a yelp of pain or fear, you couldn’t tell, but it was unmistakably Zenitsu.

“—I can’t think of anything not to love,” you finished, glaring pointedly in the direction of the yell.

Tanjirou helped you up, bending down briefly to retrieve your katana, which you took when he handed it to you.

His hand found yours, fingers weaving tightly together.

“Let’s not get separated again, okay?”

Nezuko hurried along to walk along side you and Tanjirou as you set off in the direction of Zenitsu’s cry.

You leaned your head against Tanjirou’s shoulder.

“Let’s keep each other safe,” you said, thinking back to his earlier statement.

With Tanjirou by your side, even in places like this, you knew you’d always be safe.

#kamado tanjirō #kamado tanjiro x reader #kny tanjirou #kny x reader #Hurt/comfort #sfw #fluff #this is an old as hell draft #Like #it’s been sitting in my draft folder for nearly a year #I’ve been getting a lot of notifications for this blog lately #I’ll write more stuff in the future #expect some haikyuu fics #I have like three

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2toplibrary · 2 years

Text

The Way It Works by swannanoa

(E, 4579, 1/1) 🔞

Sometimes doing life together means binging documentaries on the couch, to savor each other’s company. Sometimes it means making soba by hand, to show wordless affection.

Sometimes it means attending awkward family dinners, to provide solidarity and support. Sometimes it means running together, or sparring or fucking, to release pent-up energy.

Always, it means being present, when it’s easy and especially when it’s hard.

Tonight, Katsuki takes Shouto’s burned hand in his own, lays a kiss at the pulse point in his wrist, and murmurs, “OK, Icyhot. What do you want?”

Or: Shouto has a bad day at work. Katsuki helps him forget about it.

New arrivals

Main Hall

More Smut with Feelings

#new arrivals #smut with feelings #future fic #pro heroes #established relationship #domestic #hurt/comfort #todobaku #todobaku fic rec #swannanoa #fic

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jomiddlemarch · 2 years

Text

The unendurable is the beginning of the curve of joy

“We can call one of the Healers, there’s no need for you to suffer so,” Alina said. Again, though this time she’d added the so, as if the little word could truly encompass the intensity of Aleksander’s pain, reflected in the way he pressed his lips together and closed his eyes when she’d first perched on the narrow camp-bed, how he held himself exquisitely, terribly still, the lower timbre of his voice when he made the effort to respond as if nothing were amiss.

“It’s an old trouble of mine, an old injury, older than Tsar Pyotr’s reign and his father’s,” Aleksander said. “The Healers are busy with newly injured Grisha and that fever with the catarrh. I won’t have anyone I’ve pledged to lead and protect wait for treatment over this minor inconvenience.”

Alina let him see her look him up and down, the least libidinous assessment of his body she’d ever made, even that first time in his tent when he’d been the one to lift her sleeve. She let him see just what she thought of his own diagnosis of “this mild inconvenience.”

“I can’t ask them to come, Alinochka, not for this,” he said. “They must think me invincible, impervious, the wielder of the Cut, not a man felled by a case of sciatica. I cannot seem so vulnerable, not when I have to ask them to do impossible things every hour of every day of their lives.”

Alina sighed, then nodded. She felt the weight of her kefta on her shoulders and wished for the grey velvet robe Genya had first given her in the Vezda suite back in the Little Palace.

“I understand. I know you have many roles to play and I also know you are a man not used to having anyone look after you. I understand if you told your mother, she’d likely try to beat the pain out of you,” Alina said. “I also know I’m not letting you stay like this.”

“Tincture of time is my best option,” Aleksander said, shifting slightly and grimacing with it.

“It might have been,” she said agreeably, shrugging off the kefta and reaching over to take up the kashmir wrap Fedyor had brought her the week before, when they’d arrived on the front. She tucked it around her shoulders and crossed in front as the women of Keramzin wore their shawls to wash at the riverbank. “Before me.”

“Have you been skipping your lessons with Master Botkin to lurk in the infirmary?” Aleksander asked.

“No,” she said. “I won’t heal you, but I can make you more comfortable—”

“Milaya, truly, you’re dear to try, but I know, it won’t work. Even Luda, skilled as she was, struggled when I had a bad bout.”

“Will you let me try anyway? Will you trust me that far?” Alina asked.

“You know I would trust you through the greatest peril, from mountain peak to ocean’s teeming depth,” he said, the old vow coming easily to his lips, his accent more noticeable when he spoke the ancient words and with the pain that made him more that earlier self.

“All right,” she said. “Close your eyes and let me work.”

Once he’d done what she asked, she got up and rifled through a chest by his desk, then poured out a little of the sweet almond oil from the flask she’d packed, rubbing it between her two palms so that the heat of her body was what warmed it. She walked back over to Aleksander, lifted the hem of his rumpled linen shirt and rested her hands just at the crest of his hip. And then she Summoned, not light alone but the peace of a clear dawn, the delight of a summer’s noon filled with bee murmur and birdsong, the transporting glory of a sunset over the open water and the gentleness of moonlight, which was the sun’s gift taken and reflected into the wonder and charm of a good dream. She moved her hands lightly across his skin, dipping beneath the loose waist of his trousers to touch his tense thigh, to stroke across his lower back and graze along the curve of his buttock, her mind only filled with the tenderest affection.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” she said as she finished, as he opened his eyes to look at her as if she’d wrought a miracle.

“It is,” he said, very softly. “What did you do?”

“It’s not a cure, you’ll still need the Healers for that, but I thought this would help,” she said. “At Keramzin, the orphanage, we rarely had medicine if we were sick, but if it the pain got too bad, then Ana Kuya, the woman who minded us, she would do something like this. She sang hymns to the Saints when she did, but I thought I’d Summon instead and spare you my squeaky warbling to Sankt Grigori of the Wood.”

“I feel better,” he said. “But I still would have liked to hear you sing.”

For @vesperass-anuna who posted the following prompt: Aleksander sprains his leg and hurts his ischiatic nerve - and the problem can't be healed instantaneously by the healers. Alina helps him cope.

#shadow and bone #darklina #prompt fill #hurt/comfort #sciatica #no joke even if you're immortal #maybe it's worse then #canon au #some future where they make their way back to each other #lusander #luda #ana kuya #alina x aleksander #soft #later he can ask what she packed the oil for #vesperass-anuna

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eshithepetty · 4 years

Text

Some GF SU crossover things:

Because appearantly I'm obsessed with this now,,

***

One dangerous adventure later:

Steven: is everyone okay?? Yeah? Oh, thank the stars

Steven:

Steven: *looks at clock*

Steven: I misSED MY THERAPY APPOINTMENT OH No,,,

Mabel: ah, sorry!!

Dipper: we didn't mean to make you miss therapy :(

Steven: Oh, no, it's okay, it's not your fault. I just need to call them quick.

During the next scheduled therapy appointment, after Steven told them about his week and why he missed out:

Therapist:

Therapist: you know, I didn't think your life could possibly get any weirder, yet here we are

***

Stan steals gets everyone ice cream sandwiches one day. However, Steven seems to... not really want any. The pines don't question it, simply letting him choose some popsicles instead.

***

The twins take on gem terminology like stars, clod etc. from Steven. It's fun, cause it's kinda like swearing, except noone but them know that.

***

Broke: Wendy gets a crush on Steven

Woke: Wendy gets a crush on Connie

Like, a pretty girl, wielding a sword and riding on a beast's back casually like a real life knight, who is also smart and kind? Which wlw wouldn't??

***

One time Stan is awake at night watching TV when the screen suddenly changes weirdly. It glitches, starts showing random strange scenes, and at first he thinks it's just some malfunction, maybe the paranormal being an annoyance again, until he sees Steven appear among the seemingly unrelated things. He quickly shoots up and goes to Steven's room, and when he opens the door, the boy is glowing pink and tossing in his bed.

10 minutes later, Steven's sitting in the kitchen, anxiously sipping tea that Stan made, while Stan sits across the table from him. He hesitantly asks if he wants to talk about it, consider that, thinking back, some of the things he saw... might be worrying, but Steven just tiredly shakes his head.

They end up watching TV together instead. The next morning, Steven awakes in the armchair, snugly wrapped in a blanket.

#gf su crossover #gravity falls #steven universe #crossover #su #gf #steven universe future #suf #headcanon #hc #steven su #dipper pines #mabel pines #stan pines #wendy corduroy #hurt/comfort #ideas #my own post

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angstyaches · 2 years

Note

angst time! shayne sort of relapsing into his old habits of not eating and elliot and ryan of all people notice and help him manage it and eat through the nausea of not having eaten for ages? bonus if charlie knows this but is far away and eli understands what being a concerned bf feels like so he texts him updates?

please please take care of yourself first and don’t write this if it could trigger you or make you feel bad. 🍄

Okay. After three-ish months, I finally cut myself off with the editing and over-analysing. I’m sure I made it worse than it originally was, but here it is!!

This got pretty long, because I got a bit carried away with Elliott/Ryan moments, and Elliott's rambling thoughts on things. Also dialogue-heavy in parts. Please heed the content warnings, as usual.

CW: disordered eating, trauma, PTSD, blood (drinking) mention, dizziness, nausea, emeto, food, stomach noises, very brief mention of character’s weight.

Word Count: 4,554

Shayne's Masterlist | Elliott's Masterlist | Swallow the World Masterlist

___

Roughly six hours into not being able to sleep for longer than a few minutes at a time, Shayne rolled over beneath the duvet, groaning as it lifted on one side and let the tiniest amount of heat escape. It didn’t matter that the townhouse had central heating, or that his duvet was twice as thick as the one he’d grown up with; he was always so fucking cold these past few days.

He tried to check his phone, barely getting past the lock screen before the brightness surrounding the text made him feel nauseous. He just about made out Charlie’s name on the notification bar. Swallowing against the swell of guilt in his throat, he locked his phone again and pushed it under his pillow.

He rolled onto his back, trying to prepare himself to get up. He really didn’t want to go to the Green. It was easy to pretend that nothing was wrong when all he had to do was sit around the townhouse, holding his head up over some books for a few hours, paying attention to the TV for a while, nodding and humming and pretending to comprehend what people were saying to him.

At the Green, he’d have to perform.

In the silence of the room, Shayne’s stomach growled. He blinked in annoyance, still facing the ceiling, and flinched as he heard the door to his room being pushed open.

“Shayne. Come on, kid, are you serious? Wake up.”

Shayne gritted his teeth, biting back the urge to yell at Elliott to fuck off. “I’m not asleep.”

___

Elliott blinked at the almost-darkness that shrouded the room after he opened the door. The silhouette of someone lying beneath the covers of the bed made him roll his eyes. The thought of sleeping past nine in the morning – especially on a day when there were plans to go and train with Ryan – made his skin feel itchy, but his cousin clearly didn’t have a problem with it.

"Shayne,” he said. “Come on, kid, are you serious? Wake up."

"I'm not asleep."

Elliott frowned and pushed the door open further. He’d been expecting a groan or a swear word from the shape inside the bed, not the weak mumble that he got. "Then… move your ass. Come on. We’re leaving in a few minutes, okay?"

"Maybe I’ll miss it today, El."

“Huh? And why’s that?”

“Don’t know. Not feeling it.”

That hung in the air for a long moment. Shayne had never turned down a session with Ryan, though whether that was out of respect or fear or just raw gratitude towards her, Elliott couldn’t say. Elliott couldn’t imagine where this attitude was coming from, but it seemed like something that would quickly become a habit if they weren’t careful.

“Come on, you’ll be fine. Training is just a waste of time if you don’t keep going consistently.”

Nothing. No movement, not a sound.

"Downstairs in five, alright? You’ve got this," Elliott said. His infectious energy tended to work with Felix on his down days, and since Felix hadn’t been around for a few days – he had rented a hotel room near his mother’s nursing home so he could spend some time with her – it seemed that Shayne was now the target of his aggressive motivational skills. “You'll feel better once you're up and moving. Trust me."

Shayne responded with something like a groan or a whimper. Elliott ducked out before uncertainty could creep up on him, and he proceeded downstairs to the kitchen.

There, Elliott found Ryan standing by the kitchen window, a coffee mug in hand that most definitely did not contain coffee. She simply enjoyed using drinkware that was appropriate for the time of day; coffee mugs in the morning, teacups in the afternoon, wine glasses only after dinner unless the occasion called for them.

She was watching the birds picking at the homemade feeder that Nancy had hung out there earlier in the week. For someone trained in the magical arts, Nancy loved to make things with her hands.

“Good morning, Mama,” he chirped.

“Do not call me that,” she shot back, bringing the rim of her mug to her mouth. Her lips came away tinted blood-red, until she licked them clean. “You should get yourself some LMD. We’ve been training intensively, and it’s important to maintain your intake.”

Elliott took a step backwards so that he could open the fridge. Several rows of glass tubes clinked in the storage compartments built into the door. Red fluid sloshed evenly in every single one of them, dancing behind an assortment of differently marked labels. Besides this selection of blood – some human, some otherwise – the fridge was pretty much a ghost town.

Warm drool began to pool against Elliott’s cheeks as he selected one of the vials marked “LMD” and drew it out of its cradle. He started most mornings with animal blood – usually cow or pig, depending on how it was being sourced – so human blood first-thing was extremely tantalising.

He shut the fridge door and reached for a mug to drink from.

LMD were the initials of Ryan’s favourite donor, whose blood was marked and kept track of the most carefully. Elliott didn’t really care about the linguistics of it all, but it had been a cause of debate between Ryan and Felix in the past; Ryan believed firmly in calling a spade a spade and acknowledging the human the blood had been drawn from, whereas Felix started to feel queasy as soon as he started associating blood with its owner. Elliott didn’t mind what was labelled as what; blood was fucking delicious and there was nothing that would ever change that.

The LMD splashed a bit – rather stylishly, Elliott thought – as he poured, watching to make sure that not a single drop landed outside of the cup. The aroma hit his senses like a bouquet of roses that had been drenched in chocolate and sprinkled with chilli flakes. Elliott pressed the back of his hand to his mouth as it watered even harder.

His fangs were beginning to throb, sending dull waves up under his eyeballs. He picked the cup up by the handle, his stomach pinching with anticipation. His vision was tunnelling now, tinted red at the edges, as if he had a hunt coming up. Ryan’s method of safely preserving blood for consumption was relatively modern, and vampires’ bodies were still phasing out the instinct to seek a kill every time they needed to feed.

He downed the cup in one go, gasping as he lowered it.

The pinching in his stomach eased as he licked his lips again, this time to check he hadn’t missed a drop. The bliss that fogged his mind was quickly dispersed by the sound of Ryan’s voice.

“How is your body temperature regulation?” She always used such a breezy tone when inquiring about bodily health, as though she were asking him what brand of shoes he was wearing.

“Uh, fine,” he shrugged. He hadn’t taken his temperature in days, but he knew he’d reached a state where the fevers weren’t impacting his everyday life anymore. His appetite for blood was certainly getting back to what it used to be, too, judging by the pangs of impatience that still lingered through his abdomen. Perhaps he had time for one more drink.

“Excellent. I’m glad.” Ryan drummed a finger against the side of her own mug, eyes following Elliott as he wandered back towards the fridge. “Is something the matter with Shayne? I assumed he would be joining us this morning.”

“He will. He should be down… soon,” Elliott said, pulling the fridge door open again. There was a whole row of blood vials labelled “Cervidae”, which meant deer. Felix also fretted over the prospect of putting a ‘cute’ animal’s name on a vial, so Ryan had compromised and created the labels with the scientific name.

Elliott grabbed one of those and emptied it into his mug. “I told him to hurry up before I came downstairs.”

“Hmm.” Ryan took a sip from her own mug as Elliott gulped down his second. Her eyes flitted towards the door leading into the hallway. “I believe I just heard him on the stairs.”

Elliott exhaled deeply after lowering his mug again, thoughts clearing more quickly this time as his fangs retracted and his insides started to fill with tingling warmth.

Shayne arrived in the doorway, wearing his usual skinny jeans but missing his leather jacket. Instead, he was in Charlie’s red hoodie, the one he’d been wearing around the house for the past few days.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

“Fuck off,” Shayne sighed, lacking the usual fire that he packed behind his profanities. He took his next step slowly, as though his body were too stiff to move any faster. Elliott’s heart dropped as Shayne got closer, noting the hollowed-out look in his cousin’s face, the shakiness in his legs as he stood there.

“Jesus… you look awful,” was all he managed to say as Shayne stepped fully into the kitchen.

"Yeah," Shayne mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring at the floor tiles. His eyelashes gave a dangerous flutter. “I… I know.”

Reacting faster than Elliott could, Ryan walked over and pressed a hand to his forehead. Elliott watched him flinch at the sudden – and, frankly, unceremonious – touch. The fact that he didn’t try to dodge Ryan’s hand at all only added to Elliott’s mounting concern.

“You do not have a fever,” Ryan told Shayne, “but you are alarmingly pale. What are your other symptoms?”

“Don’t know,” Shayne grumbled, turning his face away from Ryan’s hand.

She clicked her tongue, more in annoyance than in sympathy. “We are running late this morning, but perhaps you should eat something before we leave.”

“No, I don’t…” Shayne glanced away again as soon as Elliott met his gaze. He looked absolutely wretched. “I kept you both waiting for me, so let’s just… go, okay?”

Elliott glanced at Ryan, wondering if she was having the same, sinking realisation he was having. Now that he thought about it, Shayne had only ever seemed to eat at the townhouse when Felix or Nancy were eating, too. Elliott and Ryan didn’t need food. And since Felix had been away, and Nancy had been dining out with friends a lot recently…

He walked over and pulled the door of the fridge open for the third time that morning.

The vials of blood shuddered once more, but Elliott wasn’t looking at them this time. Other than a half-carton of oak milk (for when Nancy took it upon herself to make homemade lattes), a tub of butter, and a few of Felix's favourite chocolate bars, there was nothing in the fridge consumable by humans.

"Shayne, what – what the hell have you been eating since Felix left?"

When there was no answer, Elliott looked over his shoulder. His cousin was still just standing there, staring at the floor, as though he thought that waiting it out would just make the question go away. It made Elliott's blood boil, brought back that tinge of red at the edges of his vision, and next thing he knew, he was slamming the fridge door shut out of frustration. At least one of the vials of blood shattered inside, and the sound of it only made Elliott’s anger hotter.

“Calm yourself, Elliott,” Ryan said sharply.

Elliott stormed back across the kitchen, his mind far too hazy with anger to listen to Ryan, "God fucking damn it, Shayne, what have you eaten recently?"

"Nothing!” Shayne yelled, shutting his eyes. “Nothing, I… swear."

And just like that, the heat in Elliott's veins ran cold. It wasn't just the words, it was the fearful defensiveness, as though... as though he was being accused of something unspeakable.

"What...?" Elliott mumbled, though he couldn't quite finish the question.

When he opened his eyes, Shayne looked almost as horrified as Elliott felt. His eyes were bright with tears as he took a step back towards the door, like he was about to make a run for it.

“Shayne,” Ryan said calmly, folding her arms so that her fingers could tap against her elbow. “We had an agreement, formed on the basis that you would take your health and wellbeing more seriously, and that you would make an effort to properly communicate –”

“Yeah, well, clearly I’m not fucking capable of any of that,” Shayne said, stepping into the hallway. His head was ducked so low that he was practically doubled over as he walked. “So why don’t you just throw me out?”

Elliott’s eyes widened. Not even he made a habit of swearing at Ryan. Not a single thing changed about her expression, though, nor did she seem to react to the fact that Shayne was shaking and blinking harshly.

“Shayne, wait, what the fuck?” Elliott demanded, following him closely around by the side of the stairs. His heart dropped as he watched his cousin sway, and he instinctively reached out to help steady him.

Shayne pulled to the side, causing his shoulder to collide with the cupboard door beneath the stairs. “Don’t f-fucking touch me.”

“I’m sorry.” Elliott gulped, blinking at the sight of Shayne’s face as he turned his head to snap at him. His skin was so pale it had started to look grey; the deep brown of his eyes had seemed to turn black. He raised his hands to show that there would be no touching, Elliott gestured towards the door to the front living room. “Let’s go and sit you down for a minute, alright? You look a little shaky.”

“’M not shaky,” Shayne mumbled, slurring the words a little bit. He resolved himself to doing what he was told for once, shuffling his feet in the direction of the front living room. He let Elliott keep a hand hovering by his elbow most of the way. He’d taken his hands out of his hoodie pockets and folded them over the front of them; Elliott realised he’d been hiding the fact that he’d been clutching his stomach the entire time.

With several yards still to go, he swayed again. This time, he made brief eye contact with Elliott. His eyes looked absolutely defeated, like he had finally resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to make it the rest of the way without help. He was shivering inside his layers of clothing. Elliott had the urge to throw blankets at the kid, but for now, he'd settle for just guiding him to the sitting room. He let Elliott support his way the rest of the way, and Elliott felt sick at how light he felt.

He lowered himself gingerly to the sofa.

Elliott sighed and crouched in front of him. Shayne groaned and shivered, head disappearing between his knees. “El, I feel… sick.”

“Really?” Elliott placed his hand on his own stomach, trying to recall the similarities between starvation and nausea. “Are you sure it isn’t just hunger pains?”

“No, I feel sick.”

Elliott glanced around at the minimalist furniture that dotted the living room and front hallway. As if he was going to find anything useful there that Nancy wouldn’t mind being destroyed with vomit. And there was no way the kid was walking to the bathroom like this. “Hang on a second. I’ll get you a – I don’t know, a bucket or something.”

Elliott employed his new travelling technique, fading into a swarm of tiny bats that moved at insane speed, but only for a moment. He was too wary to hold that form for too long while he was indoors.

He walked normally for the last few metres through the doorway of the kitchen.

He blinked at the sight of Ryan placing a saucepan on the hob, a container of frozen broth laying on the countertop next to it. He’d never even been sure that Ryan knew how to use the cooker, and suddenly had horrible visions of the townhouse being engulfed in flames.

“Need me to do that…?” Elliott asked, grabbing a bucket from the cupboard under the sink. He knew he didn’t have time to lure her away from the fire hazard, but felt the need to say something.

“I am two hundred years old,” Ryan shot back. “And I am a distinguished scientist. I can manage an induction hob.”

Unconvinced, but knowing he had to get back to Shayne, Elliott couldn’t question her any further. He returned to the end of the living room, crouching again and waiting for Shayne to lift his head.

“Hey, man,” he said after a few seconds. He nudged the bucket against Shayne’s knees. “Do you want this?”

A low groan was the response. Shayne slowly shuffled his feet apart and put out a hand to take the bucket, pulling it between his knees. Elliott took the opportunity to get up from the floor and settle himself on the sofa too, leaving about a metre of space between them.

He rested his chin on his hand and stared across at the fire place, trying not to look or react as Shayne suddenly gagged drily over the bucket. He tapped the heels of his hands against his legs to distract himself. He didn’t usually react badly to the sound or sight of someone else throwing up, but he did very much hope his breakfast would stay settled where it was.

The whimpers that escaped between Shayne’s teeth between gags made Elliott regret trying to guilt him into coming out to train. He ventured a glance towards him, noting that he was barely bringing anything up, besides a few mouthfuls of bile. That was hardly surprising; Elliott wasn’t sure he wanted to ask how many days it had been since Shayne had eaten something.

“What are we going to do with you, kid?” Elliott mumbled.

Lips and eyes glistening within his washed-out complexion, Shayne attempted to scowl. “I’m fine,” he groaned, as if it wasn’t obvious by now that it was a lie, a conditioned response. He loosened his grip on the bucket and let it sit on the floor. Elliott nudged it a little further away, and watched as Shayne drew his knees up tighter and hugged one arm against his stomach.

The other slid across the back of his neck, fingers curling tightly there. It was usually his jaw that bothered him when he was in distress, so Elliott couldn’t help but ask.

“What’s up with your neck?”

Shayne seemed to swallow thickly, ducking his head and curling his hand tighter around the back of his neck. A weak sob shook his shoulders. Elliott had no idea what to do. It was at times like this when he seriously felt the lack of Felix, the yin to his yan. The tact to his directness.

He cleared his throat. “You need a hug?”

“No.”

Elliott inhaled slowly, puffing out his cheeks, and exhaled even more slowly. He wondered how much longer it would take Ryan to heat up that broth. The silence was broken only by Shayne taking short, soft breaths, and eventually, whispering so quietly that Elliott may have missed it if not for his vampiric hearing.

“It’s… Mads.”

His skin crawled. Shayne had mentioned this to him before, he realised. The sensation of Madelyn breathing down his neck.

Before he could even begin to formulate a response, a harsh buzzing sound came from somewhere between the two of them, and Elliott put a hand to his pocket to check if it was his phone, but he seemed to have left it in the kitchen or elsewhere.

When he looked at Shayne again, he felt his chest constrict. Along with the guilt, he was already preparing for the lecture of a lifetime from Felix as soon as he found out about all of this.

“I’m sorry we didn’t notice…” he trailed, rubbing at his forehead. Lumping himself, Ryan, and Nancy together felt like a cop-out. “Sorry I didn’t notice something was –”

“Stop.” Shayne glared through heavy eyelids and dark eyebags, as though Elliott’s attempted apology had just cost him at least half of his remaining energy. “You and me don’t do this shit, El.”

“I know, I know.” Elliott grimaced, sliding his hand down under his chin. “But… I understand that Madelyn and Watson made you feel as though hurting yourself like this made you strong, but it doesn’t. In fact, it weakens the whole group.”

Shayne’s shoulders sagged, his gaze dropping to the floor again.

“I mean, look at us.” Elliott gestured to the room. “We’re all supposed to be out training now, but instead, I’m holding a bucket for you, while Ryan heats up chicken broth.”

“I-I know,” Shayne whimpered. “I fuck everything up, El, you don’t think I know that? I take up too much fucking space, I –”

“Whoa, whoa, that’s – no,” Elliott snapped. He moved forward on the sofa, tilting his head in the hopes Shayne would look him in the eye at some point. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you –” What? What was he trying to say, exactly? Elliott rubbed at his head again, as though he could warm up his thoughts and make them flow more easily through his mouth. “If you take better care of yourself, it’s not you being selfish. It’s helping to –”

“Yeah, okay, whatever.” Shayne sighed and folded his arms over his knees. His stomach gurgled loudly, and he let out a small whimper. “Is… Ryan really making me food?” he mumbled.

“Yeah…” Elliott cleared his throat, face still ablaze from his attempt to be of some comfort. “You don’t have to think about it like that, though. In her mind, she’s whipping up a form of medication for you. She loves that shit.”

There was another buzz. Elliott only paused briefly, anxiety clenching his throat. He knew he wasn’t the best with words, but there were things he wished he could get through Shayne’s head.

“Ryan knows you have to eat, even if she doesn’t...” The buzzing went off again, this time a couple of times in quick succession. Elliott sighed, his determination wavering. “Is that your phone, going crazy?”

Shayne groaned under his breath and nodded. “Charlie...”

“Does he know what’s happening?” Elliott asked, although he was certain he already knew the answer. If Charlie had known about this, he would have found a way to rip a hole in time and space so that he could come here and make Shayne put some food in his stupid face.

“’Course not.” Shayne slid a shaky hand through the front pocket of his hoodie and pulled his phone out. “Can you just… tell him I’m alive?”

“Sure, man.” Elliott took hold of the device, surprised to hear Shayne actually ask for his help with something. He activated the screen, and his eyes went wide at the number that sat alongside Charlie’s name. “Holy shit, he’s sent you forty-five unopened messages.”

“Mmm. Trying to read ‘em was makin’ me dizzy.”

Elliott shook his head, not remarking on the fact that any activity would make anyone dizzy after going for days without food.

He wet his lips, anxiously hesitating to open the chat bubble. He certainly wouldn’t have wanted anyone looking into his and Felix’s conversation, even if they had good reason. He did his best not to let his eyes linger over Charlie’s frantic words, although he couldn’t help noticing the over-use of question marks and exclamation points.

- Hello, Charlie.

Shayne didn’t eat anything over the past few days. We’re sorting him out now, he’s going to be fine. Sorry if you were worried.

Elliott.

The typing symbol flashed up next to Charlie’s name, then disappeared. It appeared and vanished again a few more times before a message eventually popped up, shorter than Elliott had expected.

- Do I need to come??

Elliott pursed his lips at the question, and the added urgency of the second question mark. He reckoned his own reaction would be the same, if it was Felix who wasn’t doing well. He’d want to drop everything and be there. But it also seemed that the townhouse was a hotbed of discomfort for Charlie, thanks to all the demon-repellent artefacts that Nancy owned.

He glanced up as he heard Ryan approaching, holding a ceramic bowl in one hand as she walked through the living room doorway. “Nancy would be distraught if she knew that there was food in here, but what she doesn’t know shall not harm her.”

Shayne groaned as the smell of the food began to waft through the room. Elliott quickly tapped out a reply to Charlie, forgoing both greeting and signature in favour of just providing the necessary information.

- We’re taking care of it.

He shoved Shayne's phone into his own pocket and put out his hands to take the bowl from Ryan. She handed it over, and Elliott began to wonder if Shayne would even be able to feed himself. Or even if he’d be willing to. He attempted to pass the bowl across to Shayne’s lap, but his fingers were digging into his knees.

“Shayne,” Ryan said, still standing upright and maintaining her signature expressionless demeanour, “you may not be sworn onto the Aldridge name, but you are under my care, and I don’t intend to throw you out."

Elliott heard Shayne swallow thickly, right before his stomach gave a miserable grumble. He shifted on the sofa.

“Nor do I intend to let you starve yourself.”

She crouched down where Elliott had positioned himself earlier, staring Shayne dead in the eyes. Hers were golden and ablaze with an anger that the rest of her face didn’t betray. Elliott shuddered as he remembered the first few times he'd been on the receiving end of that stare. "I expect you to try harder to follow my guidelines. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes,” Shayne stammered, and once again, Elliott had to wonder if it was another trauma response. Ryan wasn’t Madelyn, but she sure could sound scary if she wasn’t careful.

Before she got up and left, Ryan briefly laid a hand on Shayne's shoulder. "Take care of him, Elliott. I have several phone calls to make."

"I - alright..." Elliott watched her leave through the doorway on the opposite side of the room, and heard her take the stairs that led to her study.

Shayne pressed a hand to where she'd touched him, eyes glazing over again like they had when he'd been talking about Madelyn earlier. A touch on the shoulder was basically Ryan's version of a hug, but Elliott was doubtful that Shayne had picked up on that.

He felt Shayne's phone vibrate, and he pulled it out to quickly check it. His last message to Charlie had been about taking care of Shayne, and Charlie’s response was:

- Yeah. Please, do.

Elliott knew Shayne and Charlie’s generation usually meant business when they used punctuation in message form. It was also hard to forget how terrifying Charlie could be when Shayne’s wellbeing was at stake. He put the phone away and drew a steadying breath.

“Let’s get at least a little food in you, alright? Otherwise, I’m pretty sure your Charlie’s going to kill me.”

#StW Shayne #sickfic #stomach ache fic #hunger fic #hunger #disordered eating #food mention #hurt comfort #hurt and comfort #caretaking #starvation #starvation fic #yes Elliott types instant messages as though they were actual emails #maybe I'll make a follow up fic sometime in the future #when Shayne eventually bites the bullet and calls Charlie

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boyfriendsmalec · 2 years

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Someone: Insults Bad Buddy

Me:

#bad buddy #like certain critic I can get behind and understand #but this show has so much heart to it and it's honestly one of my favorite shows I've had in so long #like of course this show isn't perfect #but to me the characters are SO good!#patpran and inkpa are LEGENDS #and this has just become such a comfort show I can see coming back to time and time again in the future #like there is valid criticism of course #I'm not denying that #just can hurt a bit when it's a show you love

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ecoamerica · 23 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

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hopeintheashes · 3 years

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Touch prompt 39 with some Buck whump? :)

Thanks for the prompt! <3

39. leaning into the other’s side. Read it here or on AO3.

Prompts for the Touch list are now closed; one more fill after this!

The thing is, he almost had it.

Eddie's watching him like it's in slow motion, beside him on his own rope, so close and yet too far away to help.

They're rappelling down a cliffside overlooking the ocean, and it's all loose dirt and rocks slipping away under their feet. He's not sure whether it's the wind off the water or the unstable earth that betrays him, but when Buck goes to plant his feet after another jump downward, they don't meet the cliff.

He almost had it; his toe almost caught the gravel, or maybe did catch it just for a second, but either way, he's swinging and spinning and then crashing back against the cliff.

"Buck!" On the radio, in the air, in his own lungs. None of it can stop the way he hits the cliffside and then falls back away from it enough to spin, and spin some more.

"Lower him down!" Eddie's yelling, and it takes a second for him to remember to key his radio before he says it again.

They do, and he follows, down to an outcropping of rock that seems solid enough as long as they're still clipped in.

"Hey," he says, reaching out for Buck, getting a hand on his bicep to steady him. "You okay?"

Buck blinks at him, and then grimaces. "Things are… still kinda spinning." His hand hovers over his belly like he's not sure if he's going to be sick, and then settles on his thigh. "Hit my leg on the rocks."

"Is it bad?" Moving in close.

Buck thinks about it for a second, eyes unfocused like he's still pretty dizzy. "Not… real bad. Not great, though."

"Okay, well, c'mere." Eddie gets an arm around his back, under Buck's armpit, taking some of his weight. "Would it help to sit down?"

Buck looks dubious, but takes a deep breath and starts to lower himself, then gasps and pushes himself back to standing with his good leg. Eddie's grateful for the ropes and that he's got a good grip on him. "Nope." Shaking his head as much as he dares when everything's still spinning. "Nope, nope, nope."

"Okay." A dozen scenarios running through Eddie's head at once: How will they get Buck topside again; what about the victim below. "Here." Carefully backing them up from the ledge so they can lean against the cliff, Eddie's arm still tight around Buck. "I've got you."

Buck nods, exhausted, and lets himself lean heavily into Eddie's side. Everyone else is on the radio, asking them what they want to do, but the way Buck buries his face in Eddie's neck in spite of the gear makes it clear they they need a second before they're going anywhere.

"Okay," he says again, and shifts enough to wrap his other arm around Buck and pull him close at his side. "We'll figure this out."

Quiet, murmured against his neck: "You always do."

#911fic #9-1-1 #buddie #hurt/comfort #did i already write a touch prompt fill along these same lines?#yes.#will i write more like it in the future?#probably also yes.#touch prompts #by:hopeintheashes

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astriiformes · 2 years

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any words of wisdom for someone who has to withdraw from their senior fall semester for health reasons? brain and body both decided to breakdown this semester and it's hit the point where i have to drop out. I know you have some experience with that, so... any advice?

First of all, I truly hope taking a withdrawal is very healing and helpful for you. I'm sorry it's been a rough semester and, having been there, I know how hard it is to accept that in order for things to get better you might have to make a choice that hurts in order to take care of yourself. But it's still commendable.

I don't know if your plans are to go back or not (or to wait a bit and see), but the best thing you can do for yourself is to keep in mind that, either way, there are still paths forward for you. I know that both times I had to withdraw from school, the part that proved the hardest and most dangerous for me was the fear/feeling that, in doing so, I had messed up so badly that it ruined my chances at future happiness. That, and feeling like it reflected on my value -- especially as someone who had essentially placed all my value on how good I used to be at school before then. But there are so many things we can do with our lives, and so many ways to add feelings of value to them. School is just one option.

(It's also, obviously, important to remember that "having value" is an arbitrary standard that's harmful to apply to people in the first place -- there is value just in existing, and the mindset that we all have to contribute something important to the world to justify our existence is basically a harmful social construct. We all add something just by being here, too, hard as that can be to imagine.)

I don't know where your energy level -- physical or emotional -- is going to be at, or how long your break is going to end up being, but if you want and/or feel up to something a little more actionable, I would highly recommend making yourself a list of hobbies or causes you find "valuable" in some way and that you also think add something to the world (independent of school, or academics) and to explore small ways to integrate them into your life while you rest from other obligations. Is there a type of craft you love making -- or have always wanted to learn -- that you could spend some extra time on now? A volunteer opportunity you could look into since you have more free time, that would be less stressful than school but still allow you to feel like you're doing something meaningful? A friend or group of friends you could spend more time with? Anything you feel like you would be proud of is worth investing in, because it gives you something tangible to point to when your brain starts whispering that you've "given up" on doing "important things" by taking a much-needed break.

But even if you don't feel up to that, remember that no time -- especially not time you're using to take care of yourself -- is wasted. It's easy to compare yourself to other people who got through school without needing to withdraw, but the things that shape our lives and take us places we end up being happy we journeyed to take all shapes and forms, and theirs just looks different than yours, not inherently "better." I know if I hadn't had to withdraw from school for several years, I would probably never have moved to Minnesota, where I have made so many good friends (some of whom are basically family at this point), or worked at the science museum I did, where I had the chance to educate people about topics that are super important to me and do some really fulfilling equity work, or have realized the full depth of my passion for science communication (instead of just wanting to be a scientist), which I now hope will help me do even more things I'm proud of in the future. Even now that I'm back in school, I've stumbled my way into a degree program that's a better fit for me than either of my old ones I had to pull out of ever were. And while I still have a lot of shame, and regret, and mourning tied to the fact that my life didn't go the way I originally wanted it to, every time my brain starts to play that "What if?" game, I am finding it easier and easier to turn it around and counter it by saying "Well, yes, but what if I didn't have these other things, too?"

The thing about life is that we never know what experiences we are ultimately going to be grateful figured into it. Giving up on a dream -- or even taking a break from it -- can feel like an immense tragedy, and in the moment it often feels impossible to imagine it will ever be something you overcome. I'm sure that's where you're at right now, and I know how hard it is to see the pinpricks of light in what feels like an immense, scary darkness. And even as I'm offering all this, I know that hearing "Things will still be okay and you might even find worth in this in the end" sounds like the absolute lamest possible platitude, because even knowing your life can swing upwards from here doesn't change the fact that, in the moment, it really hurts to live it! You're absolutely still allowed to be sad, and mad, and frustrated about that. You don't have to love the idea that this painful experience is the path you ended up on, at least not right now. But I am sure you will ultimately still find things that bring you joy, or that you find worth in, or new paths to go down, and slowly, those lights will get easier and easier to see, until eventually you start connecting them into constellations, where those small, individual, bright things together start to tell a story you feel better about.

You've actually caught me at a point where I've been thinking a lot recently about who I used to be and how much it's informed where I am now. And one thing I keep coming back to is that, while the idea that you have to suffer to get to places you feel proud of, or that every bad experience you have is ultimately going to have some significant meaning is, to put it lightly, a bunch of harmful, nonsense, there is one comfort I can actually take from every single awful period of my life -- which is that I am so, so grateful to the person I was for pushing past that point, no matter how much it hurt or sucked at the time, so that I could be here now. If there's anything you hang onto while you're going through this, let it be the idea that not only is there a path forward, but that there is a version of you a little further down the timeline who is going to feel so, so much compassion for what you dealt with, and be so, so grateful you did, and love you so, so much for it. I feel so much sympathy and kindness for the younger me that used to cry his eyes out over what felt like the ultimate failure -- especially after my second, more long-term withdrawal -- and while I am still carrying that hurt with me in a lot of ways, there's also something overwhelmingly soft in feeling like my existence now is the comfort he needed back then, and that in living through that pain, I ultimately gave all the things that make me happy today to.... myself. I know from my own experience that "It gets better" feels like the absolute flimsiest comfort in the moment and I feel kind of useless even offering it because I remember it being almost impossible to internalize, but I do think that "You will be grateful to yourself for getting through this pain" is a slightly realer-feeling sentiment, that acknowledges the hurt you're feeling in the moment while also promising it's not the end.

Can I leave you with a poem? Or at least, the end of one? Long-time followers will know I have a whole thing about Longfellow's writing, but one of my favorites of his ("The Light of Stars") deals pretty overtly with the idea that, while hurt still really, genuinely hurts, pushing past it is ultimately a feeling we can value, too. The two closing stanzas have been a comfort to me for a long time, and are some of my favorites in all of poetry:

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, That readest this brief psalm, As one by one thy hopes depart, Be resolute and calm.

O fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know erelong, Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong.

#may i also add that i am losing it a little giving you this advice about inherent worth even when you're struggling with my hunter icon #so thank you for that particular unique joy #i hope you can find some things that bring you joy; too and that this ends up being exactly what you need; even if it's hard #trying to remember you can still be happy in the future while you're hurting in the present is... not always a comfort i know #but it's also pretty critical to cling to in my own experience at least #take care of yourself and know i'm rooting for you <3

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